


The Desert

by Doceo_Percepto



Series: Bendy's Murderous Adventure Across Moominvalley [14]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Comedy of Errors, Happyverse-typical references to rape torture and violence, POV Second Person, sand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19132852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/pseuds/Doceo_Percepto
Summary: The Trio decide to cross the desert in search of new Snufkins. They are not prepared.





	The Desert

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the idea and some of the hijinks within to DeerEggs. Many thanks!

Soil turns to sand. A boiling sun burns away the shade, and the horizon oozes into a hazy yellow-red. The pack you wear weighs down heavier and heavier on your back and you glance longingly behind you, only to see a distant stripe of bluegreen. You’re far from the nest you call home. Far from its comforts, like your bed of dirt. 

Not enough Snufkins, the Joxter had said. Not enough Snufkins pass by anymore. Time to move on. Time to find new land, new nest. Just for a time, not forever. But you don’t like it. Most especially, you don’t like this place which is sandy and hot. Uneasiness penetrates deep into your chest. 

_Never go there_ , something in your head echoes. 

Go where? Here? Why not? 

You look forward again, a low whine coming up your throat. The Joxter and Bendy walk ahead, neither concerned. Bendy’s even scooping up sand and flinging it into the air. You should share his excitement.  But you’re hot. Too hot. And your legs hurt from walking through sand that gets deeper and deeper. 

_Never go there,_ says the strange voice, then it continues, _some mumriks think themselves clever and hardy. They think they can cross this desert, that there’s something on the other side_. A sadness deep and profound. _None I knew ever returned._

You don’t like this place. You want to go back. The wind bites, carries with it little particles of sand that lash across your cheek. They sting in the wounds exposed on your skin. You feel your chest tightening up again _no, oh, I’m going to cry again -_ You cry all the time, and you hate it, but you can never stop it. Just like all the other times, your cheeks heat and your nose stuffs and then you’re sniffling. _Stop it, stop it right now._ You can never stop yourself. You’re a stupid wreck, and you’re lucky they even keep something as useless as you around - oh, here you go. The tears come in earnest now, long streaks down your cheeks while you huff and whimper and whine. You’re making a mess, and you hope they won’t notice if you just put your head down and tread behind them. But you’re never so lucky. 

Papa slings a look back at you, and tsks. “Come Happy, what’s wrong with you now?”

You tuck your chin closer to your chest, humiliated, even though they expect this of you because you’re dumb. 

“Geez, is he crying again?” comes Bendy’s voice, and you feel even worse. “The heck is wrong now, Happy?”

It aggravates him sometimes, when you cry and it’s not his fault. You feel more awful now, and hot sobs keep hiccuping up your throat. “‘Msorry. ‘Msorry, Bendy.”

You come to a stop - you’re going and making a scene now, you stupid awful Snufkin -

Bendy appears in your field of view, eyes oval and peering up at you. “C’mon Happy,” he says, softer. “What’s wrong?”  


Oh no, he’s _worried_ for you. He does that sometimes, nowadays. It’s a recent thing, this worry, this caring - at first you thought it must be some joke to play with you, and if so, it would have been very funny, of course, because he’s allowed to play with your mind or your body and both are fine by you, and all his jokes are funny. But lately you think he’s actually really serious and then it isn’t funny at all, because you’re being inconvenient and making him worry. You’re supposed to be here for his entertainment and enjoyment; making him feel bad is the worst thing you can do. So of course you’re pathetically sobbing, being inconvenient and bad.

“I wouldn’t fuss over him, darling,” the Joxter calls. “It just gives him attention.”

Bendy tilts his head, peering up at you. He’s not convinced. 

“I-it’s true,” you burble pitifully. “I-I’m just being dumb, and - and useless, and I’ll get better, I promise, I’ll be good-”

“Why are you crying, Happy?” he says quietly, dangerously. 

You snuck up your nose and avoid his eyes. “I-I don’t know.” _Desert_ , you think, and then the word stumbles out, “d-desert.”

“Dessert?” A smile flashes on his mouth. 

“Dessert?” The Joxter humphs. “A spoiled Snufkin, indeed, if he thinks we’ve gone and brought him something sweet.”

You cry harder. 

“Dessert, dessert, dessert,” Bendy says, bouncing a little. 

The Joxter looks to the red horizon. “Do you think Happy simply doesn’t know how to pronounce desert? How endearing.”

“A desert?” Bendy frowns. “What’s a desert?”  


“Why, we’re in a desert, Bendy. What did you think all this sand was for?”

“Heck, I dunno, it seemed like a giant's sandbox or somethin.’ I was hopin’ we might come across some giants!” Bendy flung his hands above his head as if to emphasize the mighty height, and then he marched in circles in that manner. “Giant dessert!”

“No, no,” the Joxter shook his head. “This is a _desert_ , although a sandbox is not such a bad way to look at it. It’s very hot, and very sandy.”

“Well, I sure got the sandy part.” Bendy scooped up more sand and let it filter through his fingers before looking at your swollen tear-stained face. “So what’s Happy’s deal?”

“Perhaps he doesn’t like deserts. Come along, dear; I’ve been through many a desert, and I’m a mumrik that knows how to handle himself in such weather.” The Joxter rearranges his cloak. “It shall only be a few days of heat, and then we will reach the other side. Normally, I’m not inclined to such journeys, but we can rest for a good long while later. I’m certain there will be a hearty population of Snufkins as well.”

You know you need to follow him. You know you’re making a scene. But you can’t make your legs move. 

_None I knew ever returned._ Your Papa knows best, though. You should really move. But… what if he didn’t know best, here? You’re certain, in some half-foggy memory, that you’ve been to the edge of this very desert before. And that you very much shouldn’t continue to cross it. Should you let him know?

“Happy?” Bendy prompts.

“I-” the words stumble out in a squished rush, and Bendy laughs. 

“Heck did you just say?” 

A deep shaky breath. “I-I d-don’t think-” you wince, expecting a blow, because you’re not supposed to think. When none comes, you falteringly continue, “don’t-think-we-should-go.”

A silence. Bendy and your Papa consider you, and your panic makes you feel like an oven under your cloak. 

“Happy, you know what we’ve told you about thinking,” the Joxter says kindly. 

Bendy grabs your hand, and at that point you either walk or you get dragged, so you stumble after him whimpering. 

“Geez, lighten up,” Bendy hisses at you.”Don’tchya know I like it better when ya smile?”

You try very hard to smile, then, pinching your lips up through your tears. 

Bendy laughs and hops excitedly. “Way better, Happy!”

Yes, better. Anything he asks. Anything he wants. 

It doesn’t take you long to get tired of crying. Usually you get tired as soon as you start, but once the exhaustion really hits, you trail behind Bendy, stumbling over sand and drooping beneath the burning sun. It feels like your cloak is going to melt into the skin on your back. Then Bendy will have to peel it off, and probably peel off your skin with it, leaving you all stripped and naked with no skin on. You giggle, and Bendy shoots you a smile. 

They’d skinned a Snufkin once. Hung him upside down and skinned him alive. You helped; you were happy to help. Anywhere they need you. You have to help, when they invite you. 

Close to midday, when the sun is at its hottest, the Joxter guides you behind a large rock, which provides some meager shade. “We’re already a fourth through,” he informs you. “Come Happy, hand over the water.”

“Yes, Papa!” You dive into the pack and with shaking fingers dig out a canteen. 

The Joxter gratefully takes huge gulps, and although your throat is dry and raspy, you don’t ask for the water. Bendy decides when you eat and drink - it’s not up to you. Bendy’s currently basking on top of the rock, and he doesn’t seem concerned about how hydrated you are, so it must be okay. 

Your tongue is swollen, though, and your vision a little foggy at the edges. You regret crying so much - if you hadn’t done that, you’d probably be fine! Stupid, stupid Snufkin. 

“What have we to eat?” the Joxter asks. He’s finished off the canteen. There are extras in the pack, but you avoid them determinedly as you rifle around. 

You pull out bits of wrapped and salted meat, and some nuts, both which the Joxter gladly takes from you and begins to nibble on.

“I didn’t think out the food situation,” he admits, and laughs. “We have nearly all salted things. Happy, the next canteen, please.”

Obediently you pull out the water (the sloshing noise inside taunts you) and hand it over.

“This sort of weather!” The Joxter declares once he’s had his fill. “It surely takes it out of a mumrik. I’ve got only a little energy left.” His cat-like eyes settle on you, and his grin is like a toad’s. “Happy, come here.”

Your insides freeze in fear. He’s going to use you. That’s how it is. That’s how it should be. On shaky legs, you make your way over to him, and settle on the ground. It only takes the slightest touches for you to lay back and spread your legs, no matter how strongly you wish to close them. This is good for you. You need this. 

He adjusts your position like arranging a toy. You hold your breath, trying to steady your heart. As his length prods into you, it’s dry and painful, worse even than usual, and your back arches off the hot sand. “A-ah-“ 

“Hrm,” he goes. Adjusts you and himself. Tries again. 

Tears spring to your eyes. You want to scream at him to stop but such a thing is pointless. Anyway, this is why you’re here. This is why you’re alive. Your purpose. You try hard to be still, and to keep yourself as open and relaxed as possible so that he might enjoy himself. 

Even so, he hisses. “Why are you so dry, Happy?” His finger roughly prods at your sensitive nub, and it burns like lightning up along all your nerves; you twitch stupidly and can’t help but totwist away from the sensation. 

“P-Papa,” you gasp; his eyes soften. 

He tosses a look over his shoulder, and holds out a paw. “Bendy, would you please?”

The demon, who has chosen to watch at this point, obligingly licks the Joxter’s paw until it’s slick and dripping with black ink. 

You cringe. “Papa,” you say hoarsely. “Please, no-“ You can’t help yourself. 

“Hush,” he says, pumping himself until he’s hard and coated with ink. “Aren’t you grateful I’m using something to help you?”

You only whimper as he forces his way in. As always, he feels too thick, but this time there’s an extra abrasive sensation, something rough and burning. Several thrusts later and the Joxter, too, frowns. 

“Hum…” 

“Wat’cha stoppin’ for?” Bendy calls out.

“I -“ your Papa pulls out his dick, which is disgustingly smeared with ink and fluids. “Hrm. I think there may be some sand in there….” He wipes at it a bit with his paws, then jams himself in again. This time the sensation is worse, and you howl. “Ah, I got more sand,” he laments. “Such a difficult thing to get off when in the desert."

Bendy sniggers. “Boy, look at him squirm!”

“I think we can make it work.”

Make it work he does. Ignoring your thrashing and crying, he pumps in and out of your now wet hole with great dedication, using you whether you like it or not - and you aren’t supposed to like it, because it’s not about you. You squeeze your eyes shut and pray that he enjoys himself, that your warm walls are slick and pleasant to him, that your body can bring him to his release. You feel miserable and dizzy, but you feel bad more often than not, and you really shouldn't complain so much.

Soon enough he grunts and goes still, his seed spurting inside you. 

When he slides off and curls up to nap, you sit up, and the milky grey mix dribbles from your sore cunt. It aches horribly. But you were good. You were enjoyable to him, and this makes you happy. You giggle, and then cough. 

Soon your Papa has fallen asleep. You’re left hunched up, unable to focus on anything but your thirst and pain. Your eyes flit to Bendy, sprawled on the rock and tracing little pictures into the dirt, his foot and tail tapping to a rhythm. Does he know mumriks need more water in hot weather? Does he even realize it’s hot? No - no, you shouldn’t think these things. He knows what’s best for you. 

Only he doesn’t really know what Snufkins need all the time. Your chest tightens again. _No you already cried once today, don’t waste any more tears -_

But you’re already beginning to huff and sniffle. It’s much too late, no matter how much you hate it. This time, you manage to get in a good short cry without Bendy noticing. Then you sit quietly, trying and failing to think about your thirst. You cast glance after glance at Bendy, but he’s very occupied. You shouldn’t disturb him. You absolutely shouldn’t suggest that he can’t take care of a Snufkin, because he can. He’s a great owner, he takes care of you very well. He gives you everything you need and more; he’s so generous, so kind to you, hurting you as Snufkins need be. 

Once when you glance up, Bendy’s looking back at you. You freeze, eyes round. He’s got a sinister smile. He’s very still, all four limbs tucked under him like a wild cat about to pounce.  You do not move. You do not breathe. Your heart hammers. 

“Hi Happy,” he says. 

“H-Hi-” Your greeting turns into a scream as he leaps off the rock. Mid-air he transforms, ink elongating, teeth growing huge as they near. The thing that lands on you is immense, heavy, and drooling ink through dagger-like teeth. You end up pinned to the ground, seizing in terror while breath refuses to move into your lungs. A thick wet tongue licks across your cheek; you laugh. Galvanized, his mouth closes around your torso and gives it a light, playful squeeze. Now that - that really makes you paralyzed, feeling sharp points press all up both sides. Huffing in thrill, his teeth snag in your shirt and whoosh, you’re lifting directly off the ground. You scream, thrash, there’s tearing fabric and then you strike the ground hard.  Wind rushes out of your chest and leaves your diagram futilely fluttering. The shoulder you landed on burns. 

_Get away get away-_

You’ve just gotten up on all fours when his huge horns catch right in your ribs. In a plume of sand, you’re flung several feet away, where you curl in a ball and pray he finishes playing soon. You’re trembling, arms tucked over your head for protection, awaiting the next blow - but it doesn’t come. It doesn’t come. Doesn’t come. 

It’s likely another game, teasing you, catching and releasing. You daringly peer one eye through the barrier of your arms. Bendy is still by the rock, but… He’s shaking his head side to side, and clawing at it with his immense paws. It’s easy to see why. Sand coats his entire face and horns, which had evidently gotten too close to the sand plume when he threw you across the dune. Being that he’s viscous and very drippy, the sand has thoroughly stuck to him. The more he paws at it, the more sand coats him, as it’s all over his paws and lower legs, too. 

Bendy lowers his head, and a low hiss rattles from his teeth, his tail lashing - the sight alone is enough for you to tighten your ball anxiously. His claws scour his own ink-flesh, leaving gouges but doing nothing to fix the sand problem. In fact, his frantic scratching and aggravated shifting is only kicking up more dust and sand to coat his legs and belly. Bendy hisses again; his tail slams into the rock that he’s slowly backing towards, and large chunks of rock are dislodged. 

The Joxter, who had already been roused a bit by your screaming, now flees the safety of the shade, arms above his head. “Bendy, Bendy, darling, what are you doing-”

By now Bendy’s almost entirely coated in sand, and he emits a wet distressed roar. 

“Oh dear -” the Joxter looks at you, “what have you done-”

The roar twists into a whine; Bendy begins to rub at his face with his forelegs rather than his claws, but this is no more effective, simply smearing sandy ink everywhere.

“Darling, please, you’re making it worse-” the Joxter dares approach where you won’t, his hands lifted in a peace gesture. “Please, calm down for just a moment, stop - stop that -”

Bendy keens miserably; he’s all crammed against the rock, pawing furiously; you need to help him feel better! You need to be good!

Desperately you scramble to your feet; the world lurches. Through hazy vision you stumble to him, “Bendy, Bendy-“ 

“What in the world are you thinking!” The Joxter cries at you. Then, “Bendy, stop that right this instant!”

Bendy wails ferally, rearing up on his hind legs to scratch at his face. This leads him to stumbling a few times, and stepping on the pack (you just know something had to have gotten squished, plus sand piles on top of it). 

“You are being absolutely ridiculous,” the Joxter scolds loudly, then coughs through the immense clouds of sand and dust that the demon’s thrashing is kicking up. 

“Bendy-“ You step nearer, only to have the Joxter yank you back. “You’re an idiot, as well,” he tells you. “Transform back!” He urges Bendy. “Don’t do this non- there you go!”

Swathes of ink melt and collapse and are shed until at last Bendy stands there in his smaller form, face twisted up in misery. Every inch of him is spotted with sand

“Jooxterrr,” he wails.

“It’s just a little sand,” the Joxter replies, dismayed. 

“I don’t like it!” 

“Well, digest it, and then you won’t have to deal with it anymore.”

“Ngh,” Bendy crosses his arms, but obeys. Gradually his ink absorbs and dissolves all the sand.

“You see? That’s quite easy.”

You’re shaking and sore from his last bout of playing, but you have to help him feel better-

“Bendy,” you murmur, ripping free of the Joxter’s grip to woozily stumble towards Bendy. “Do you wanna hurt me?”

Bendy smiles, and his tail curls up at the end. “You’re askin’ for it, huh?” 

“No, no we have limited medical supplies-“ the Joxter starts, but too late - Bendy grabs you, and his flat teeth puncture into your forearm. A scream tears from your throat with a force that is near-painful. 

“Bendy,” the Joxter complains, and the demon pulls away laughing.

 

* * *

 

By afternoon, the three of you are walking again. You’re too exhausted and thirsty to even think about your dread. You know you were told something or the other about this desert, but it doesn’t matter. Papa knows best. Just one step after another.

Only the Joxter quickly makes his way through the second canteen. You begin to see little images on the horizon, little wisps and figurines like fairies skating on water. For a time you watch them twirl. Just focus on them. Just keep walking. It’s what Bendy and the Joxter want. 

“-appy? Happy? _Happy_!”

Whoa. You blink. You’re stopped, you realize, and Bendy’s small and angry in front of you. You didn’t realize he was talking to you - yelling at you, actually. You did something wrong. Your gut twists with fear and shame (why did you mess up AGAIN) and you try really hard, you truly try, to hear what he’s saying, but it’s warbling in and out. You have a hard enough time with your bad ear, but now it’s way worse - sometimes it really seems like he’s yelling from miles away, and then suddenly near, then far again. You blink and white spots flare in front of your eyes. 

Oh, you’re being really bad. Anxiety twines in your chest. You open your mouth to apologize but it’s as if your tongue has swollen and your throat is full of dust - you begin coughing uncontrollably. Suddenly your Papa’s voice is mixing with Bendy’s. There’s alarm, a flurry of green, then only all white white white then black - 

 

* * *

  

Slowly your eyes blink open. Blindingly bright light. Your head is splitting with pain, your throat is parched. Horns appear in your field of you. 

“Are ya finally awake?” Bendy yells at you. 

“Water,” you croak. 

“Right.” 

He disappears from your sight. You hear… crickets. Bugs. Birds. Your head lolls. Green. The forest? 

Something latches onto your ankle. “Mmuh?” Before you find out what, it begins to drag you; rocks bump and jab against your spine, and you moan piteously.

“Here ya go!” Bendy exclaims somewhere out of sight. Ink rearranges your body as easily as a puppet’s, until you’re on your stomach gazing down. Oh! Your reflection. Oh. Water.

“Wait-“ you hoarsely start, but too late. Your face is plunged down; water rushes into your throat and ears and immediately you’re gagging, panicking, because water means death, water will pull you under and never let you up and -

Bendy hauls you out. You half curl on your side, spluttering and coughing.

“Jeez, Happy, you’re supposed to drink it, not breathe it! Why do ya never get that right?”

“He’s absolutely hopeless,” comes the Joxter’s voice, weaker than usual. When you tiredly lift your eyes, you see him sitting in the shade of a tree and sipping from a canteen. He’s pale, with rings under his eyes and an exhausted look about him. He smiles at you. 

“You must be wondering what happened. Well, we had a bit of a rough patch there in the desert, but all is well now.”

“Rough patch?” Bendy yelps. “Happy fell asleep, I had t’drag him all morning, an’ then YOU fell asleep, and I had t’drag ya both all the way back to where we started. This whole dumb trip was pointless!”

“I like to think we had an experience and learned something,” the Joxter states.

Bendy crosses his arms.

The Joxter rises. “Well, how about we try the desert again?”


End file.
